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If you have a shitty apartment, or plan to live in one some day, be aware no matter what you do to stay in your fortress of solitude, you will be forced out of its walls to find allies. These allies will give you food, shelter, company, and now and again, a small section of their warmth, no matter how frozen they may seem. Even if, like Michael, it is your goal to stay in all day and up most nights to play the most recent video game, no matter what, you will be forced outside your dwelling to others.
In the span of four months, but technically a year, marked by two main events known as the Extinguishing and the Shiver. Smaller events happened over the months, of course, but none as impactful as both of these.
The Extinguishing was his and Ryan's first encounter, other than the mere passing one another in the hallway or riding an elevator down, or the occasional run in. Each new the other better by the end, including the size of one another's boxers, and both would recount the story as a joke for a long time after. The second encounter happened in January of the next year, almost exactly four months from the first, but this one was more intimate than the first. Not that all or any intimacy is bad.
Any fly on the wall of the first time, who swung that way, would have gotten one hell of a show. It was around three in the morning, the time when any normal, respectable person would be asleep (But who am I kidding, this is a story. No character in a story is normal, or respectable).
Ryan's insomnia was acting up, and so he was camped out in his living room, book gently cradled in his arms. He wasn't really reading, more or less just inhaling the gentle scent of the corpse of the tree in hand, running a finger down the artfully stacked words. A few would jump out at him now and then, just particularly smooth words; fascists, oblong, viper, vagabond, just to name a few, and would casually dance across his mind.
He was interrupted by what seemed to be a sailor, colorful language outdoing the tints of a rainbow. He stood, dog-earing the page he was on, walking to his front door and quietly opening it to peer outside.
A short, pale guy with frazzled looking brown hair was standing outside his apartment in boxers, swearing at a fire alarm going off inside his house. "God damn it, it's a fucking toaster! It's just a tiny ass bit of smoke, fucking hell you idiot! Mother fucking pizza rolls, that's all! God. Damn, shut up!" Michael saw, in his peripheral vision, Ryan close his door to watch him. He whips around, head tilted as he glares at Ryan. "What do you want?"
Ryan clears his throat, lightly tugging on the bottom of his shirt to adjust it. "I just came over to see if I could help you, if you needed or wanted any." Michael sizes him up, one eye narrowed as he inspected the man who was similarly dressed as him, only with a shirt on and pajama pants, and nods a bit.
"Sure, if you know how to turn off the asshole on the ceiling. And can reach it..." He mumbled the second part, face flushing as he stared at his feet. "It's the one in the kitchen, in the middle of the room. Obviously, you can hear it and shit, so... Yeah. "
Ryan chuckles softly and grins at the man in front of him. "Alright. I'll give it a go." He walks inside, after a gesture from Michael, heading into the center of the kitchen. Smoking pizza rolls, along with a cracked plate, sat on a weak looking table off to the side, as the smoke detector overhead squealed. Ryan drags over one of the stools, climbing up on it as Michael watched.
"Need anything?" Michael offered, beginning to fiddle with a screwdriver that had been left on the counter nearly. The blond shook his head as he carefully twisted the discontent alarm from he ceiling, taking off some of the wires before popping the batteries out. He climbs down, beginning to work on the settings.
After a few minutes, he returned the batteries to their previous location and began to put the alarm back. "There. That should do it. I dulled the sensitivity a bit and turned off the present alarm. That okay? Anything for else?"
Michael shakes his head and grins. "Nah, that's it. Thank you. Sorry if I woke you up, kind of have a bad habit of doing that." One of his tattooed arms goes to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. "Just have a bad temper. Never really learned to control it. Can I make it up to you?"
Ryan shrugs a bit. "It's fine. Just couldn't sleep, it wasn't your fault. You don't have to make it up for me, I don't really care about getting even with favors and all that. Just seems kind of pointless, and it stops the point in being kind for kindness' sake."
A half joking groan comes from Michael as he shakes his head. "Fucking hell, not another philosopher."
They met occasionally, getting to know one another over the next few months. Michael would invite Ryan over to play video games with his other friends, normally just the same two: a British dumbass who was hopelessly in love with video games even if he was horrible at them, by the name of Gavin, and a quieter Puerto Rican who had a gamer score higher than Mount Everest known as Ray.
They were all an odd combination, but more or less evened one another out. There was the chaotic Michael, loud and vulgar, who was nearly the opposite of Ray who was quieter than any of the others, but still put in some excellent points. There was the hopeless Gavin, who made up words and asked the most ridiculous questions, balanced by the educated and logical Ryan. All together, they were one hell of a team, as well as opponents.
The date was January 13th, a Monday. Ryan had never understood why Friday the 13th was supposed to be an unlucky day, since every Monday the 13th something awful always happened to him, while the Friday ones always seemed to be extra lucky for him. This Monday was no exception.
He sat shivering under a pile of blankets, staring around his frozen apartment. Snow had knocked out the power for his part of the city, and nobody had any generators, since snow in the magnitude it had fallen in was a rarity. He had been trying to fix up an old radio when a knock came at his door. Startled by the sudden noise in the silence, he dropped a hammer, cursing as he stood to walk to the door.
Michael stood outside, with sweaters piled one on top of another as he shivered. He sniffed softly, sounding a little congested as he said,"Hey. I'm cold and most of my blankets are in storage in the basement of the building..." He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, sniffing again. "Can I stay with you?"
Ryan opens the door wider, smiling as his other hand stretches out to usher him inside. "Come in. I have a few, but not many. You okay with sharing a bed, too? I don't have a guest room." He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as Michael walks in, smiling softly.
"I don't give a fuck. I mean, it's not like we're gonna fuckin'... 'Do it' or anything. Doesn't fucking matter to me." Michael catches the blanket thrown by his compatriot, draping it around his shoulders quickly, his own personal cape. Ryan laughs softly at Michael's statement, nodding a bit as he walks back to the couch.
They sat; talking, reading, reading one another's body language, studying one another. If you've ever sat in a complete, yet comfortable, silence with another, you notice things. Even if they are not paying attention to you. You see the way they hold themselves, weather their posture is poor, or constantly rigid, or if it slid, from being impeccable to improper and almost rude. Their hands are always another thing to notice, weather their nails are trimmed perfectly and cared for, or weather they were bitten down to the nail beds, raw and screaming, or if they were long and slender. That's only observing the fingernails.
Eventually, Michael gave into his need for heat, crawling over and under Ryan's arms, his forearms resting against his knees, pressing into the gentle warmth drifting off of him. This drew the latter's eyes, as he held Michael gently. The two sat together, neither questioning the slightly awkward positioning, Ryan reading to himself until turning to the final chapter.
He glances down to the partially asleep Michael, squeezing him lightly. "Hey. Want me to read to you? I don't want to finish my book." Ryan was met with a small nod, as the younger closed his eyes, humming softly to indicate his preference. A smile lit Ryan's face as he turned back to the beginning of "Buried Fire", reading it aloud.